<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The beast inside Mr Hyde by EbonyMortisRose</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25108516">The beast inside Mr Hyde</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyMortisRose/pseuds/EbonyMortisRose'>EbonyMortisRose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The story of Dylan Jackal &amp; Mr Hyde [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vampyr (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Gore, Child Loss, Dylan Jackal my OC, Mary Reids Husband, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Skal becoming self aware</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:26:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,317</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25108516</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyMortisRose/pseuds/EbonyMortisRose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarence Crossley saw a soldier being attacked by a vampire whilst in France.<br/>The event traumatised him so much that when he returned to England he spent all his money on trying to make everyone aware of their existence. Even confiding in Dr.Reid his dearest friend.<br/>But what if that wasn't just any soldier, what if that was Dylan. Mary Reid's husband. She had lost her baby to the flu and received news that her husband was missing in action, presumed dead. In a way he had been murdered, Dylan had been twisted into a monster, a Skal, with no memory of ever being human, that is a fate worse than death.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>None</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The story of Dylan Jackal &amp; Mr Hyde [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821553</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The beast inside Mr Hyde</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>The difference between you and I is that I know that i’m a monster</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>                                                                                                               Dr.Jonathan Reid</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>***************************************</span>
  </em>
</p><p>It lifts its head, the half gnawed femur bone still clenched between yellowed and blood-stained teeth. There, it sniffs. A breeze from the river had carried the tantalising copper scent it's way.</p><p>The bone clatters to the cobbles forgotten, fresh meat was nearby. It was ravenous. Prey was getting scarcer, after the bad prey with the red pain on sticks. There's a memory, a word. Fire. Had chased it away. It watches for the bad prey now, it learnt, or knew. <em>Avoid the enemy..s..so.sol..</em></p><p>It snarls, it might have howled. It did that sometimes when the itchy thoughts got too bad. Clawing at its own ears, trying to make them stop.  It feels better after the scream. Other smaller prey had scattered away, leaving the lingering scent of urine, fear. Good, this was its kill. Its meat.</p><p>It scurries along the riverbank on all fours, keeping to the shadows. It doesn't like the light on sticks, they hurt its eyes. Its bare clawed feet scrabble for purchase on the muddy embankment, as it follows the siren call of spilled blood. So close now.</p><p>Then it freezes. It hears sounds of a struggle above it on the, b...bridge. Many prey.</p><p>It sniffs, opening its fanged mouth, letting the scented air roll over its pallet. The air is saturated with an intoxicating blend of fear soak sweat, and adrenaline-filled blood. It begins to pant through gritted teeth. Come it called, take me, rend me, devour me. Then like a  gift from heavens, one of the prey cries out and falls over the edge of the bridge. Landing at its feet, splatting into the mud. It doesn't notice that this preys inviting red glow is small, almost still. It only sees fresh meat and leaps.</p><p>As soon as its teeth tear into the prey's throat its overwhelmed, this was like nothing it had tasted before. Rich, spicy, invigorating. More, it needed more. Rend, suck, take, devour.</p><p>The prey feebly tries to struggle. It feels it claw at its back, its shoulders. But he would not stop, he wanted it all. He....he was a he, not an it.</p><p>Then red pain, the bad prey with fire had come to steal his kill. No! Mine! The beast howls, his world goes red, he's never felt so strong. He can see their precious life pulsing erratically in the center of their chests. like a small animal wanting to break free of its cage. Free me, consume me and he obliges.</p><p>He feels flesh tear easily under his claws and soon the male's screams are reduced to desperate gargles. He throws back his head and howls once more, reveling in the total carnage now at his feet. He was king of this jungle, he was...was.</p><p>He swallows, running his tongue over scarred lips, chasing every drop of that delicious nectar. He felt light-headed and staggered, tripping over one of the now cooling corpses. His hands instinctively go out in front of him, stopping his fall, ending with him landing on his hands and knees.</p><p>Then the red haze of hunger slowly lifts, revealing something shiny in front of him. He cocks his head, trying to understand what he was seeing. The floor was sparkling, like liquid silver. No, it was a reflection. The moon above was dancing across the surface of the muddy puddle he now stared down into.</p><p>But what was that staring back?  He leans closer, having no breath to disturb its surface, the ripples soon settle and he's greeted with a true visage of horror staring back at him.  Glowing ghostly yellow eyes shone out of a face comprised of oozing pockmarks and lesions, that would not be seen out of place on a rotting corpse. And like a corpse its hair it sparse upon its head, a few greasy strands cling to a pale scarred scalp. He watches as the thing in the reflection mimics him, slowly raising his own shaking hand to his cold clammy dead flesh, and then it screams. Not the primal cry of a beast, but the wrenched cries of a man.   </p><p>"hhhh..ggg..ddd!"</p><p>His vocal cords struggling to form forgotten words, as he pushes away from the horrific sight, landing on his backside. His hands already caked in viscera, now pick up handfuls of mud and he scurries back kicking out with his legs, as if shattering the image might make it go away.</p><p>"oh...ggg..oh.. d...oh..god!!"</p><p>His hand lands on something soft, warm. It rolls slightly as he pulls his hand away, it was a head. It was missing its lower jaw. He could see the rest of its body was further down the bank, strewn across a second bloody body. They were in uniform, some sort of military fatigues?</p><p>Were they soldiers? Did he kill them? oh, god!</p><p>"Wha..what's..happen..ed.. to.. me?"</p><p>His throat feels tight, clogged up with...he swallows that metallic taste, blood.</p><p>There's a bloody Flash. Tearing flesh. Digging in claws. The thrill of the hunt. Sinking his shark-like fangs into succulent warm pulsing meat. No, not meat, humans, men, women. Oh, god!</p><p>His stomach flips over and he wants to throw up, purge himself of the vileness that's now coursing through his veins. He frantically looks around at his surroundings, truly seeing them for the first time in what felt like days? months? Where was he? He couldn't remember.</p><p>He looks again at the dead men, then down at his grimy hands. He must be still in the trenches, that's it. This is a nightmare. A gas attack affecting his sensibilities.</p><p>He looks down at his tattered clothing and can make out the familiar remnants of his uniform. That's it, it's just a nightmare. He just needs to wake up. Or many be he's in hell and that thing in his reflection was his tortured soul.</p><p>But the smell, that clawing alluring scent. Which even now makes his teeth ache still surrounded him. That was too real. Without thinking he runs out his tongue again over his lips, tasting that exquisite liquid.</p><p>There's then a gurgling choking sound to his left and he sees another man. This one is dressed in a torn and bloody suit. He's missing his left arm and his stomach is torn open, his entrails partly dragged out. He should be repulsed, he should be backing away horrified but the smell, that glorious heady scent draws him towards the dying man. Slowly he begins to crawl towards his prey, something else taking over his actions.</p><p>There is no heat radiating from the man's guts. His chest does not rise and fall, and yet as he draws level with the man's head. He watches in fascination as the man's throat spasms, trying to speak through a torn throat. His eyes then flick open, staring straight at him. Two black pools, the iris's a lighter shade, red perhaps. It was hard to distinguish colour in this light. He makes another gargled choking sound, trying to form words. His bloody lips part to reveal two long canines.</p><p>With morbid curiosity he leans over, tilting his head, trying to make out the dying man's last words. But some primal instinct was warning him to stay just out of reach of that mouth. That this man, this creature, even though clearly dying still exuded danger. His eyes rested on the bobbing adams apple, surrounded by torn flesh, and he could picture crushing it between his jaws. He could feel his lips pulling back, the beast once more crawling to the surface. His serrated teeth began throbbing in his mouth with need. His blood smelt so good.</p><p>The man made a pathetic attempt to flinch away whimpering, choking out. <em>"crasseux...Skal." (filthy Skal)</em></p><p>His sight shifts once more into that red haze, and looking up and down the man's body, he could see the glorious buffet laid out before him. His heart was like a cooling piece of coal, only feebly spasming once as he watched. The majority of the Blood had pooled in what was left of his stomach, so that's where he began.</p><p>The blood ran down his throat, feeling like he was being stroked with silk on is very insides. It soothed all the aches and pains he didn't realise he had until now. He twitched at one point, halted in his meal. As a flash of white pain ran down his spine as it re-aligned, returning it to its straight position. The deformed and hunched beast was slowly being returned to a man.</p><p>Finally, that man resurfaces, rocking back onto his knees. His head tilted back, eyes closed clinging to the afterglow. A pleasant sensation of pins and needles runs all over his body. He smiles, licking his lips, imaging soft kisses there, chasing each prickle. followed by the ghost of fingertips caressing his cheek. <em>My sweet Mary.</em></p><p>"M...Mary!"</p><p>Reality then comes crashing back. Unlike a drug addict coming down from a high, his return to reality was not subtle, but jarring. The beast within now sated, had slinked off into the shadows of his subconsciousness. Leaving only the man to deal with its actions.</p><p>He staggers back onto his feet, the last of his bones cracking into place, and wipes frantically at his mouth with those demonic filthy hands. He can still feel the deformities on his face, those hideous welts, and raised scars. The man was there, underneath and he had a name once...D..Dylan...yes..his name was Dylan. But all anyone would see was the monster.</p><p>He couldn't let his Mary see him like this. Mary, his beloved wife.</p><p>He looks over at the soldier's bodies once more and shakes his head. Crouching by the less mangled of the two, he was fascinated to see that he could make out fine details, even with only the light of the moon that was now fading. Dawn was maybe an hour away.</p><p>The body of the second man was smaller than the.....He glances over his shoulder and grimaces at the flash of a memory, of literally ripping a man's head from his shoulders. He closes his eyes tries to refocus, trying so hard to keep his grip on his sanity.   Focus on the tasks at hand soldier, he chides himself. Wall off those emotions, they are just getting in the way. Act. Survive. Cry later. He then returns his attention back to the smaller man.</p><p>The man was wearing a gas mask and the tattered remnants of a bandoleer that would have held grenades. Another memory flashes, of searing pain, his flesh bubbling.</p><p>Who were these people? Their uniform seemed to be a mishmash of army fatigues, not relating to any one regiment. This one did have a badge sewn onto his upper sleeve, it denoted a letter P with a cross through the bottom stalk. Some sort of militia perhaps?</p><p>He slips the gas mask off the man's head with a trembling hand and gasps. A young boy stares back at him, eyes frozen wide. He must have only been in his teens. What was a boy doing out in the night playing soldier! He then looks back over at the headless corpse and again a wave of revulsion hits him. Was that man his father?</p><p>There's another flash of memory, Mary humming a nursery rhyme, his son cooing, his son, Luc. His baby boy. His vision blurs, as lukewarm tears roll down his cheeks.</p><p>Where he was now was a mockery of the scene when he got the news of his son's death. knee-deep in blood and mud, hunkered down in the trenches. The mangled dead, left to become a feast for the rats.</p><p>They had not been covered, as any sheets or blankets were used to keep those alive warm, and they were too tired to dig graves. When he had read that letter, it had given him the strength he needed to kill anyone who stood in his way. He needed to get back home, needed to be there for his Mary. Needed to tell her everything was going to be alright.</p><p>His nostrils then flared at the metallic scent of blood and he wipes at a cheek and is horrified to see that even his tears are corrupted.</p><p>He gently brushes the boy's eyes closed and slips the gas mask over his own face, whispering. " je suis vraiment désolé"  (I am so sorry.)</p><p>This wasn't a nightmare, this was real. He was a monster, a murderer. He could never be Dylan again, they had killed him, twisted him into this thing. He would find out how he came to be like this and wreak bloody vengeance upon them. He would fight his way back to Mary. This was just another battlefield after all.</p><p>He wanted to bury the men, even the man in the suit. But the beast inside, the one that had kept him 'alive' all this time urged him to find shelter. Whispering without words of a coming danger and he suddenly felt so tired. Surprising himself that he could even be thinking of sleeping after such horrific revelations.</p><p>But he found himself, sluggishly plodding towards a sewer entrance he knew was nearby. He had used it before. Memories came to him of scurrying in the dark. Howls echoing down damp urine rich tunnels. They lead to the catacombs, a labyrinth of ancient tunnels spread out like the veins, covering the heart of the city underground..the city...Paris..he was still in France he realised.</p><p>He made it into the lower levels just before his legs gave out, and he sank down into the filth and then was eventually swallowed by the merciful void.</p><p> </p><p>__________________________________________________________________<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story came about after mashing out background ideas for my OC Dylan. Mary Reid's husband. As his son was called Luc, a french name i went with the idea that Dylan was also french. His last name (spelled differently on purpose) was a love letter to Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. With his Humanity constantly at war with his Skals bestial side.<br/>At the end of this story, he is now self-aware after consuming large quantities of an elder ekons blood. Just like what happened to Sean Hampton after being forced to drink Dr. Reid's blood.  I prefer to do one-shots, rather than continuing chapters. But hope to eventually end up with him finding out some way, that his wife has been murdered by Dr.Reid.<br/>Will the good Doctor put him to rest like he did his sister? Or will Dylan work with the hunters to end the ekons unlife......well see.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>